


Zapped

by unholygrass



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor whump, Electrocution, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gen, Hurt Gavin Reed, Kidnapping, OC doesn't even have a name he's just there to get the job done, Poor Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Torture, no beta we die like men, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholygrass/pseuds/unholygrass
Summary: Gavin Reed used to think androids couldn't feel pain.He's proven wrong.He may hate Connor's fucking guts, but he wouldn't wish this on anyone.





	1. Zap Zap

**Author's Note:**

> HEY I've been stuck in this fandom a long time and now I can't stop writing for it :) I also can't stop hurting Connor. Appearently it's my specialty. If you like this and are disappointed by the ending do not fear because even as I was writing it, I was too! I might write a second chapter to it with Hank's involvement because I crave it. I haven't decided yet. Also I just started my first year at college so I'm slammed and have been writing when I can so if I am slow-- that's why. 
> 
> As usual-- no beta. there's mistakes.
> 
> Also if you've read my other fics you will notice a trend of how I write unconscious Connor being dealt with by other characters. I haven't changed my wording almost at all because I just like it a lot-- he's slippery and lanky okay?

Androids can’t feel pain. Pain is a human stimulus managed by the central nervous system when damage is inflicted to the body— it’s the body’s way of telling the brain that  _ Hey, something’s wrong here.  _ It also happens to be the single most unpleasant and dangerous sensation that humans can experience, and every piece of medical history involved discovering ways to manage and minimize it as necessary to survival. 

 

Kids learned young to shy away from pain. People had different tolerances to it. Women could handle more than men. It can kill the body all on its own. 

 

And android’s can’t feel it. Gavin had already made up his mind on this. He’d personally seen Connor get shot in the gut and continue to run two miles after their suspect like a fucking lunatic. He’d delivered the hardest sucker punch to Connor’s nose and watched him turn back to face him like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. 

 

Only twice had he ever heard Connor make any kind of noise to indicate hurt, and even then he  _ knew  _ it wasn’t because it had actually pained him. It was programmed into him to seem more human or whatever the fuck— or it had been a surprise response that came with deviancy. Not pain.  

 

He’d seen two androids who’d been victims to a vicious hate mob, and they’d been more upset by the concept that they could have been killed than by the fact that they were both drenched in their own blood, holes in their plastic bodies and heads— had they been able to feel pain, it would have been  _ agony _ . Instead they sat for an hour while Connor calmed them— they were fine.

 

Androids didn’t feel pain. 

 

Gavin had been so,  _ so  _ sure of it. 

 

But as he watches this fuckin’ piece of shit plug in some massive cable to a enormous jerry-rigged electrical outlet, it feels more like a heavy hope than the certain fact he was used to. 

 

The ShitBird didn’t hate humans, he hated androids, and the closest one he had available was Connor, strung up by his wrists, toes barely touching the ground while Gavin sat firmly against the wall, tied to a kitchen chair with zip-ties that threatened to amputate his limbs. 

 

Gavin hated Connor. He really, really did. He’d decided that over a year ago when he’d first laid eyes on that stupid doe eyed face with that bright fucking LED back in November. Hated him even more once he’d gotten a soul because then he’d gotten opinions and started doing whatever he wanted— not that he hadn’t done that before deviating anyway. 

 

The stupid fucking prick never got tired or slowed down. They could be three days without sleep on a case, dragging and hurt, and the kid would still be immaculately dressed and at attention, ready to spring onto the next lead and next interview, willing to lend a hand to anyone else while he waited for the humans to gather their strength. 

 

Gavin hated his entire fucking facade of nonchalance and patience— his quiet personality and contentment. They worked a hard fucking job with the most wicked parts of society— that shit ate at your mind. Seeing him mulling around, green eared but programmed to be as competent as any weathered detective? He hated him for it. 

 

He was more fun to bully now at least— now the kid sniped back, tossing out snark and insults whenever he could be bothered, ignoring Gavin when he couldn’t. It was far more entertaining that way. It made being around Connor’s annoying proper ambiance digestible when he managed to get the bastard to snap back.

 

Despite their combined efficiency, Fowler knew better to put them together on cases very often, and when they were forced to work together it was always for a very short amount of time, lest Gavin shoot Connor for encouraging their bromance— and that was exactly what this case was supposed to be— quick. 

 

A quick case, not a case where they were lured into a trap, Connor forced to obey or risk a bullet to Gavin’s brain. He could still feel the angry heat under his skin from that— Connor had single handedly broken into the most guarded building in all of Detroit and taken down eight patrols before leading thousands and thousands of Androids out across a very militarized city— He was one hundred percent confident that the brat could have taken out their little ShitBird suspect, even if the barrel had been smashed against Gavin’s ear. 

 

But instead he hadn’t risked it, mentioning something about a ten percent fail rate while ShitBird had strung him up on hooks. 

 

Ten percent was low as hell. Gavin would have taken ten percent. Hell, he would have risked Connor’s life on a fifty-fifty chance— but Connor had chosen not to. 

 

Gavin hates that. 

 

Hates that he knows Connor doesn’t see him as a liability, even though technically, in that situation, he had been. 

 

Hates that even while Connor eyes their suspect moving around gruffly, he doesn’t hesitate to scan over Gavin to be sure he wasn’t injured. 

 

Fuck, he hates Connor. He doesn’t need a fucking android trying to take care of him. Doesn't need his synthetic sympathy. 

 

He changes thoughts. 

 

Their ShitBird— Gavin refused to call him by his real name, he’d also partially forgotten it—  has to be at least 6’7”, if not more, and weighs somewhere around 300 pounds. There would be no tussling with this man— if they got free they were going to have to either run or take him out from a distance. If he got too close, they wouldn’t be able to fight him off. 

 

Well, Gavin wouldn’t. He knows androids are stronger than humans, but he doesn’t know by how much. If they get a moment alone, he’ll ask the brat if he could bench press their man. 

 

He tests his binds again, clenching his teeth silently as they bite further into his skin, slicking his arms and ankles with blood. If he could get it slick enough, he might be able to get free, it would just hurt like a bitch. If he had worn his jacket then they’d already be free. It was tough and slippery, and he would have been able to slip his wrists backwards right out. If he could get free as it was, he’d need to do it when ShitBird wasn’t in the room— then he’d be able to grab Connor and— 

 

Grab Connor?

 

He closes his eyes. 

 

Connor was a person in the eyes of the law, and by code, he was also a fellow police officer. Gavin hates his fucking guts, but he supposes that doesn’t mean he get to decide if he lives or dies. Two years ago, he had thought otherwise. He likes to think he’s not the same person that had tried to assassinate Connor in the evidence room. Nowadays if he had the opportunity he would just fire a round near him— just to scare the shit out of him, not to actually hurt him. 

 

He thinks about it. In a case of self preservation... no one would question Gavin taking an escape, even if it meant he couldn’t bring Connor along. 

 

Somehow, he also hates himself for even having the thought. He would take Connor. If he could get free, he would go for Connor, not the door. Connor was a piece of shit, but he didn’t deserve death. Gavin wonders if it’s the life full of saving all kinds of scummy people as a police officer that has him making up his mind, or if it’s the way Connor frowns at the blood dripping onto the floor from his ankles despite the thirium leaking from his own arms. 

 

Fuck. 

 

As it was however, ShitBird seemed to have no ideas about leaving them alone. He took his massive cable and set it down on the floor. Most of it was covered in a rubber conductor, but at the very end was plain copper with four prongs that snapped and sparked occasionally. It was a wicked ugly thing that made his stomach church just looking at it. Burnt flesh smelled awful— if one of them was going to get burned then the entire room was going to reek. 

 

The man stepped in front of Connor, and Gavin had the perfect angle to watch as the creep eyed him up and down like a piece of fucking meat. Gavin hated Connor, but he hated people like this even more— he’d dealt with only hundreds of them throughout his career, and he had learned a long time ago that most people with that complete disregard for life deserved nothing more than a bullet to the brain. 

 

Not that Connor was alive— but it was the principle of the thing. 

 

Wasn’t it?

 

Yeah. It was. 

 

To his credit, Connor didn’t so much as flinch when Shitbag reaches forward for his chest, touch almost gentle before grasping fistfuls of his dress shirt and ripping it open, buttons flying every which way and clattering to the ground as he pushes the fabric out of the way. Chest now bare, somehow Connor looks younger. Gavin does not understand why the fuck that’s the case at all. 

 

The android is regarding their perp with a calm, almost thoughtful expression. There’s a few approaches that Gavin can practically see swirling around in the kid’s head. Shitbird hated androids for taking their jobs and being superior— Connor could try breaking down, showing (or feigning, Gavin really isn’t sure) fear at whatever was about to come in an attempt to convince the man of his humanity— to appeal to the empathetic and humanic side. Gavin throws that idea out immediately. Connor wasn’t that stupid. This psycho had kidnapped two cops and already had Connor strung up like a fucking pig. His conscience wasn’t exactly functioning at optimal levels. If Connor showed fear Shitbird would probably only get more of a kick out of the entire thing. 

 

Connor could antagonize him, but Gavin had already been doing enough of that for the both of them, and it wasn’t really Connor’s style anyway. 

 

That left his normal, calm, level headed approach— 

 

“If you abandoned this now, you could probably get far enough away to avoid being caught.” Connor’s voice was steady as ever, brow only dipping slightly as he was ignored. 

 

Gavin really can’t stand looking at him much longer— no one hanging by their fucking hands had any business being so calm and collected. It’s fucking creepy. 

 

But of course— androids can’t feel pain. 

 

Gavin felt his face twist in distaste as Shitbird reached forward and pressed his thumb between Connor’s collar bones until there was a faint hiss of compressed air being released. The skin on his chest immediately flickered off, revealing the bright plasteel beneath as the seamless plane split and a panel opened, sliding somewhere under the kid’s stomach. It’s too fucking surreal— Gavin doesn’t hate this— he fucked  _ despises  _ it. It’s too personal, too intimate, too much like a fucking horror movie from his childhood. He can literally  _ see  _ Connor’s blue heart twitching away, thick tubes of thirium pulsing and panels of black boxes and wires twisting to intercept each other. It’s the chest of a machine— but it’s also far too much like that of a human. There was no reason to make the  _ insides  _ of androids to integrate with society or to mimic humans. That was just how it was— how those fucking creeps at CyberLife had designed them.

 

How they had designed Connor— the same way they had designed his entire fucking chest to open at the literal press of a button. 

 

_ They had not designed Connor to put Gavin’s life above apprehending their suspect. They had not designed Connor to give up at a ten percent chance of failure— of that Gavin was sure.  _

 

Connor stops looking at their perp once his chest is open, and Gavin is fairly certain he isn’t imagining the faint frown that fills Connor’s face. Gavin can’t blame him. If his entire chest was open in the basement of some creeps house with a massive taser, he would probably frown too. 

 

Fuck, they were so fucked.  _ Connor  _ was so fucked. For some reason his stomach is twisting. He tells himself it’s because their perp had no reason to keep him alive— and definitely not because Connor was in  _ so much fucking trouble.  _

 

Sure enough, Shitbird turns away from Connor to grab his sparking magic wand, and the creep has the fucking audacity to throw Gavin a grin— like he expected Gavin to be just as excited as he was. 

 

Twelve months ago, he might have been. 

 

Now he starts tugging further at his feet— if he could get his feet free, he may be able to use the chair as a weapon, knock their perp over the head with it— 

 

But the zip-ties are too tight, and he can’t get any leverage, and he’s already back in front of Connor, prongs creeping closer to his vulnerable chest— 

 

“ _ Hey!”  _ Gavins own voice surprises him. “It’s not fucking worth it— just run now and the judge probably won’t put you in for life.” His harsh words are enough to make Shitbird pause and turn to look at him, eyebrows shot up on his forehead in surprise. “Think about it. He’s not fucking worth it. Just run.” His voice is dark with something he wasn’t even aware of. The blood running down his wrists is hot, and their perp looks at him, and Gavin can see the guy’s mind spinning, opens his mouth to keep going, to distract him—  

 

But the prongs are shoved forward, deep into Connor’s chest, sparks flying immediately and lights flickering above them as the electrical current threatened to overload the house’s breakers. 

 

Connor’s scream is short and guttural, cut off into low whine of agony as he bucked away from the wand, feet pushing off the floor for leverage— but the wand is tangled somewhere in there, and even as he thrashes madly, tries to lift himself on his binds, kicks out blindly— the current doesn’t cease. All of his muscles spasm and he ducks his head as he tried to wrench away— the wires and components in his chest fry as the electricity burns him alive from the inside out. The room instantly smelled of charred plastic and fried metal— many chemicals spilling over and burning out.

 

Gavin can’t even hear himself shouting, the strength of it rasping against his raw throat. He was killing Connor.  _ He was killing Connor.  _

 

All at once Connor’s back and neck arch, and a harrowing screech he had obviously been trying to swallow escapes instead, ringing against Gavin’s ears. His body stays rigid like that for a moment more before the prongs are yanked free, bringing three severed wires with them. Connor drops like a rag doll, hanging limply from the ceiling. 

 

Gavin feels like he can’t breathe. 

 

Androids couldn’t—  _ couldn’t feel pain— but that—  _

 

Gavin had just witnessed nothing but pure agony. He wasn’t a fool— Connor was an android, but that had been  _ pain. Connor had been in pain.  _

 

His eyes are watering from the faint smoke and acrid chemicals and coolant dripping freely from Connor’s chest, sludge slowly slipping down smooth plastic onto fake skin. Connor’s head is ducked, but Gavin can see the blue blood leaking from his ears and nose, rolling down his neck and staining his collar. His body gives a few involuntary twitches as lingering current overwhelmed smaller sensors. 

 

“I thought— they couldn’t feel pain.  _ They’re not supposed to feel pain.”  _ Gavin’s mouth moves without his permission, his words filling the silence that had fallen. ShitBird stood a few feet from Connor, examining his work, eyes entirely pleased. He threw a look at where Gavin was reeling. 

 

“They don’t— unless you apply a current to their central nervous system.” Even his voice is slimy— filled with pride at discovering such a finding. He sets his wand down off to the side, but doesn’t unplug it. “It’s one of the most sensitive biocomponents they have. It’s like electrocuting a raw nerve.” He turns back to Connor, eyeing the blood slipping down his cheeks. “I found out on accident, actually.” He reaches up and grasps Connor’s chin in an iron grip, forcing his heavy head up so he could see his eyes.

 

They look dead. If it weren’t for the pulsing red LED, Gavin would have thought he was. Connor’s eyes glassed over sometimes if he thought too hard or contacted someone wirelessly, but it was never like this— not this foggy film, unseeing and murky. 

Gavin wonders if Connor’s been blinded. His LED was on, but was he actually still alive in there? Had he been fried out, computer processor burnt beyond recognition? If he needed a surge protector for his fucking TV in case the power flickered, how much was necessary to kill an android? 

 

ShitBird drops Connor’s head carelessly, turning to Gavin instead. Despite himself, fear shoots up his spine, leaving a acidic taste in his mouth. He turns it into a scowl instead of the grimace that wants to take its place. 

 

Gavin’s surprised by the rage that fills him, rushing through his limbs and making him dizzy— it’s heavy in his chest and makes his teeth clench tightly. He didn’t even fucking like Connor, but Gavin knows that he was smart as shit and wasn’t afraid to stand up for what was right. As far as Gavin was aware, the bastard had never actually done anything wrong in his life— never fought with anyone or started drama, never cut deals or took bribes, never used his fame in Detroit and Jericho to get what he wanted. He was a good guy— a good cop. Gavin couldn’t stand him, but the injustice of it all made his muscles ache. 

 

Connor definitely didn’t deserve death, and he  _ certainly  _ didn’t deserve getting his fucking  _ nervous system hooked up to the house’s electricity current.  _

 

Their perp only makes eye contact for a moment before eyeing the blood soaked through his jeans and dripping from his wrists. He quirks his lip. “Sorry ‘bout that. You were just in the way really.” He steps closer, but doesn’t seem to have any intent with him. “I was going to try to get him out all by himself, but you were too good of leverage to just set free. He behaves so nicely when there’s any life but his at stake.” 

 

Gavin has to stretch his jaw. If he gets any angier, he might just break his fucking teeth. 

 

“Why him?” His question is innocent enough, and their guy seemed talkative. The more he knew, the better suited he was to take him down— at least that’s what he tells himself. 

 

“Seen him on TV. He’s everywhere. Detroit wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t raided CyberLife.” 

 

Gavin scoffs. “It’s been two fucking years buddy. Move on. Detroit was going to fall eventually.” It was true— Connor had been a major player that night, but Gavin doesn’t doubt that the humans would have given in anyway with enough time. 

 

And that wasn’t Connor’s fault. Not really. 

 

ShitBird steps closer, cocking his head to the side. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that he feels it.” He jerks a thumb back where Connor hung before shoving his hands in his pockets and meandering towards the stairs. Gavin waited for him to leave and tracked him until he went up to the second story before losing him. He took three steadying breaths. Then— 

 

“Connor. Hey. Wake the fuck up.” The android is swaying some from the binds at the ceiling, and the rope that was hung on the O ring looked harsh and it was coated with blue blood. His toes were dragging against the ground limply. It made Gavin’s stomach twist. He had seen a murder a few years before that was uncannily similar. 

 

“Hey—  _ Connor!”  _ He raises his voice, he needs Connor to wake up. If the bastard was dead... 

 

The LED shifted to yellow for a moment before changing back to red. Every now and again it would splutter. It takes two minutes of silence, but eventually he let out one low short moan, the muscles in his arms jerking. 

 

“Connor. Come on.  _ Wake up _ .” It’s concerning how long it’s taking, how Connor can’t jump back into action the way he normally did. “Hey!”

 

He’s rewarded with another groan, and eventually blinking, dull eyes. The blue blood smeared across his face stands out starkly to his naturally pale skin... and— when Gavin squints across the distance, he can see that something was fucked with Connor’s skin overall. It was swimming around in strange white blotches, some parts looking perfectly normal and other parts looking like the white plastic that he could still see peeled back from his chest. It made him look sickly and broken. 

 

Connor was blinking lethargically, muscles twitching occasionally. Gavin can still see his beating blue heart. He’s doing his best to ignore it. Connor’s arms twitch, almost like he’s trying to pull himself up, and he manages to get his toes pressed correctly against the floor. The movement seems to suck the remaining energy from him, and he goes loose again. 

 

“Come on, asshole, you still kickin’?” He might break his thumbs, but he should be able to get free. He may need plastic surgery later to put all his skin back on his wrists, but he’s nothing if not a tough bastard. He can handle the pain if it means freedom. What was a few more scars anyway? He could just add them to the list. 

 

Connor’s chest wasn’t moving the way it did normally when he faked breathed. Now it was jumping, and it sounded like he was sucking in air rapidly. Gavin’s stomach creeps further up his throat. “Thought you plastic dolls didn’t need to breathe— what the fuck are you doing over there?” 

 

Connor’s response is full of soft static, his words dropping off strangely, hitching like they came through a poor connection. Gavin supposes they were. “Over— overheat...ing.” 

 

Overheating. He was breathing because he was overheating. Maybe it was like a fucking fan— more fresh air meant cooling things off. Fuck if he knows. 

 

Gavin bites down harder on his lip as he gives a few more harsh tugs against his bonds, trying to make progress with quick excruciating movements instead of several slow agonizing ones. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his arms. At least his ankles are partially protected by his jeans. He turns his gaze away from Connor, staring at his wrists when he speaks again. “You gonna fuckin’ make it?” His tone is too gruff to be concerned, but Connor was smart. He’d know either way. Whatever. Gavin was tired of pretending not to give a fuck— but pride was immortal. 

 

“No.” 

 

“The  _ fuck  _ you mean  _ no? _ ” Gavin is snarling. 

 

“Thirium pu-u-pump. Short— ing out. Two hours... be-before shuuutdown.” 

 

“And what the fuck does that mean?” He knows. He should know. 

 

Somehow, Connor’s little sigh of exasperation is not rewarding. “Heearrt— Thririum pu-uump is... my my heart. It’s— stut-stuttering... like...” He takes two deep breaths before falling silent for a moment, then very quickly forces out “ Ventricul-ar fib-b-brillation. Two hours— til, shutdown— death.” Connor’s eyes are closed again. Gavin can’t really blame him. 

 

“So you’re having a heart attack. Fucking fantastic. Just fucking wonderful, Connor.” Nevertheless, he takes three more pulls at the zip ties. 

 

“Mmm-m... Do— does-n..t. Feel— wonderful...” Connor pauses. “Assho-le.” 

 

Gavin chokes out a snort. At least Connor still had his wit. He’d been a little afraid that the bastard had his entire brain fried. They had two hours to do something with Connor before he died. That wasn’t a lot of time. It was even less time considering he was still tied to a wooden chair in a basement at an unknown location. 

 

They weren’t great odds. 

 

Gavin hears heavy footsteps heading back down the stairs. 

 

They were awful odds actually. 

 

Gavin’s got his knuckles caught on the ties. It might actually be the pinkie that’s gotta go. 

 

ShitBird ignores Gavin entirely in favor of stepping up to Connor. To his credit, Connor only shrinks back a little, but otherwise doesn’t flinch or cower. He even lifts his head enough to look at him properly, even though Gavin knows he doesn’t have much energy left and has to still be in pain. Gavin can respect that. 

 

ShitBird flashes Connor a toothy grin. Steps closer.

Gavin also accidently breaks his pinkie. He’s only aware of it for a second before he’s already got his pocket knife in hand from its holder on his belt. The ties around his feet come off in two slashes. The noise alerts ShitBird, but Gavin’s faster, and his lunge for the wand is  _ perfect _ , thank you. By the time ShitBird comes for him, Gavin already has the prongs jammed against the guys chest— a quick spark and pop— and he’s dead before he hits the ground. 

 

Gavin tosses the wand far away, far enough that it can’t accidently kill any of them. Makes a mental note to tell the first responders not to fuck with it. Considers unplugging it, then doesn’t. 

 

Connor’s watching him with those stupid puppy eyes, and Gavin goes back for his knife so he doesn’t have to look at him. He has to drag the chair over to Connor and climb on top of it to reach high enough to get to the knot holding him aloft. After three minutes of listening to Gavin’s cussing, Connor speaks up from where he had been patiently awaiting freedom. “Pe-rhaps you— you— you should just cut it, de...tective.” 

 

“Perhaps you should just shut it, asshole.” Nevertheless, he does start sawing at what ought to be the weakest point. 

 

He’s almost all the way through when he pauses and considers how they’re going to do this. “You’re not going to be able to catch yourself, are you.” 

 

“Predictably n-nnnot.” 

 

Gavin motions at his exposed chest cavity— “How the fuck do I shut this?” 

 

Connor makes a little wheeze, arms tensing in their bonds. Androids weren’t supposed to feel pain, but after Gavin had just witnessed, he really didn’t want to leave Connor up there any longer than necessary— but he couldn’t really be manhandling him with his fucking ribcage out on display. 

 

“Beeetween collar— collar bones.” He makes a strange little grunt in the back of his throat— voice speaker— fuck if he knows. “Juuus— press.” 

 

Gavin’s hand only hesitates a moment before reaching up and pressing firmly against the dip at the base of Connor’s throat. There’s a faint hiss and a click, and the plate that had disappeared started moving back in place before getting caught halfway. “The hell’s wrong with it?” 

 

“Fr-fried the— track. St-st-stuck.” 

 

Well, it would have to do. Some parts of Connor’s insides were still vulnerable, but it was better than nothing. “Fine. Help me out here.” He climbs back onto the chair and ends up wrapping one arm fiercely behind Connor’s back from the side. He maneuvers Connor’s limp arms over his shoulders for balance since the bastard seemed to have little ability to move. If nothing else it might keep them both from knocking themselves out on the concrete. 

 

He makes one final slash. Connor’s weight drops immediately and Gavin tosses the knife to keep from stabbing him, both arms catching Connor beneath the armpits. The sudden weight pulls him from the chair in a graceless tumble, and he only just barely manages to keep them both from smashing into cement. Connor is boneless and slippery, far too tall to be maneuvered as such. By the time Gavin sits back, Connor’s eyes are fluttering and his LED is strobing red. 

 

“Ah Jesus.” He pats Connor’s face a few times to try and get a reaction, but the kid’s already faded back out. Gavin’s a little impressed that he managed to stay awake as long as he had, given that his insides were burnt to a crisp. 

 

It was fine. He’d manage on his own. He’d find a phone, call the precinct, get some first responders— and Hank. He’d call Hank. Hank always knew what to do for Connor. He’d know where to take him to keep him alive. They still had an hour and a half. 

 

He was out of immediate danger, but Connor wasn’t. He still hated him, but he’d keep him alive. He stood quickly, already in search of a phone and his service weapon. 

 

He’d keep Connor alive— after all, the office would be far less interesting with their snarky little shit bumbling around. 


	2. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this is a hot fucking mess but that's okay. I changed my profile name in case that was confusing for anyone. It used to be Spitfire00. There will be one more chapter with this. Small disclaimer- If you are questioning Gavin's behavior at the end just ask me and I will explain it because while I think it fits his character I can see how not everyone would agree with that.

It takes Gavin all of seven seconds to realize that even though he and Connor were free, they were still fucked. All it took was a quick walk up the stairs to realize that they were more isolated than he predicted. He knew better than to wonder just what else could go wrong— it was better not to tempt fate like that. 

 

He can tell simply from looking out the window that they’re far outside the city— The midday sun was shining across miles of rolling corn hills, and the only road Gavin spies acts as a driveway leading to... hopefully the highway. Gavin was 74% positive that all the android repair center hospital whatever the fucks were all in the heart of Detroit, at least an hour away if his guesstimate on their location was accurate. He’d done his best to pay attention to where they were being taken when they’d first been captured, but he’d also been working on squirming free of his ties and antagonizing their captor. He knew for a fact that they had hopped on the I-94 for about twenty minutes before switching off to the highway, but after that it had become a twisting trip of backroads and country lanes. He had hoped that perhaps they’d inched back towards Detroit, but now he was fairly certain that they had not. They were deep in the fucking boonies. 

 

He knows better than to look for his cellphone. He’d seen Shitbird drop it out the window while they were on the interstate, and the first thing he’d done after Connor passed out was search the body of their captor only to come up completely empty aside from a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He assumes that the first thing Connor had done at the sign of trouble was call for assistance, but nothing had gone through. He’d have to ask the brat about it— he doesn’t know what could possibly keep Connor from contacting others other than the most obvious things, and he knows that the kid didn’t just  _ let _ them get kidnapped without trying to reach out to the local patrols. 

 

As it was however, they were on their own until they got a call out, and Gavin isn’t sure Connor has that kind of time. Fucking wonderful. 

 

He continues his hunt through the house, moving quickly and not taking much time to really get too close of a look. Connor only had an hour and a half before (death) and if they were seventy-five miles out of Detroit, then they were on a time crunch.    
  
The house is practically empty, and it becomes blaringly obvious that their perp was only using it as a place to sleep, eat, shit, and torture androids. Fucking disgusting, but Gavin had seen worse. He finds his service weapon and holster and takes the time to strap it back on, digging around a little more before finding Connor’s as well. He considers it before strapping it on the opposite side as well. The kid wasn’t going to be in the shape to use it anytime soon, and Gavin couldn’t help but love double wielding. His and Connor’s badges are still intact, sitting right with their weapons, and Gavin pockets them as well. 

 

If he had more time he would make note of evidence for CSI, but he doesn’t, so he tries to trust that some other idiotic prick would be able to figure it out.

 

He finds keys to the truck that had brought them there along with his jacket and secures both before deciding that he didn’t have any more time to waste snooping around and returned to the basement where he’d left Connor. 

 

The android was still lying limply on the ground, chest jumping weakly as he tried to cool off his inner mechanisms. There was blue blood pooling by his face that hadn’t been there when Gavin left. He frowned and walked closer, squatting down. 

 

Connor’s LED was pulsing a severe red, spinning slowly. Gavin was a good foot away and he could still feel the heat radiating off of him from inside his partially open chest cavity. Every few moments something inside his chest would spark fitfully and Connor’s face would tighten. 

 

Connor chooses that moment to scare the shit out of him, eyes jumping open like lightning, a thick layer of blood splattering across his lips. He jerks, shoulders jumping off the ground as he tosses his head. It takes Gavin half a second to realize that he was trying to throw up and he digs his hands under him and shoves Connor onto his side, sitting back on his heels while the android fought to expel the liquid building in his chest. He makes soft choking noises that sounded entirely too human while blue blood splattered out across the concrete.

 

Gavin didn’t fucking understand— He couldn’t understand where the blood was coming from. Did androids have lungs? Had Shitbird stabbed him? Why the fuck was he bleeding? Eventually Connor settles down again, staying curled on his side, thin stream of thirium slipping down his cheek from his nose into the small puddle that cradles his cheek. 

 

Gavin tries to gain a little insight into the situation. 

 

“Hey assswipe, you with me?” Connor’s eyes squeezed closed tightly before cracking open, staring forward blindly. “Hey.” He repeats, reaching down and patting the side of his face firmly. “Come on asshole.” 

 

Connor let out a faint little noise and shifted on the floor again, eyelids fluttering as his LED circled round and round. Finally— “Detective?” 

 

Connor’s voice was still rough and staticy, but it was clear enough to understand. He wasn’t trying to move— Gavin doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.   
  
“Who else, dipshit.” He murmurs, glancing back at the stairs as he considered how he was going to get Connor back to ground level. He turned back. “What the fuck’s with the blood? Where’s it coming from?” 

 

Connor shakes his head just a tad. His lips move for a moment before any sound comes out. “The CUrrent— bu-burNNt out— some mem.. Some memBRane in my che-chest.” 

 

Membrane? Okay, that was new. Whatever, the fuck did he know about androids anyway. “You gonna bleed out?”

 

He shakes his head again. “NoO. Heart— heart— working’ too hard. The pressure... is too-oo hiGh to cloosse the lea-eak.... It’s build-ing in— my chest. Not fatal tho-ough.” 

 

Gavin feels like he’s learning more about androids than he ever wanted to know. It’s useful but also so damn weird. It didn’t matter much, either way, he was just going to have to deal with Connor barfing up blood every now and again. 

 

He could handle that. 

 

“How much time until you— die, or shut down, or whatever?” 

 

“An hour and tw-tw-twenty-two miNUtes.”

 

Fuck. They needed to get in the car and get moving towards the city. “Alright. Sucks, but we’re on our own. He dumped my phone and doesn’t have one on him. You can’t get any signal out can you?” He’s not surprised when Connor shakes his head no. “Why not?”

 

Connor gives a little staticy sigh, fingers scraping against the concrete for a moment. Gavin felt his impatience sneaking up on him— they needed to leave— but he swallows it back down. Connor was probably too fuckin’ tired to talk much more.    
  
“He... had a— trans...mit blocker— on him. Now... my network plugins— are fri... it’s, fir— fried. Not... operational...” 

  
Gavin can’t help the faint wince that twists his face. Shitbird had really fucked Connor up. “Doesn’t matter, we can get to the city on our own.” 

 

Connor’s eyebrows furrow, and Gavin pulls out the keys as explanation. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.” 

 

——

 

Unsurprisingly, getting Connor up and out of the house is challenging. He’s too weak to stay up on his own, and his legs don’t hold his weight at all— Gavin can feel him trying to lock his knees to support himself, but his balance is nonexistent, and half the time Gavin has to keep him from falling backwards down the stairs.

 

Going up the stairs while practically carrying Connor is exhausting— Connor isn’t light by any means, but Gavin’s always been a determined bastard, and he’d decided a while ago that he wasn’t going to let Connor die in the basement of this creepy fuckin’ house. The pain tugging at his lungs from hauling 140 pounds of boneless detective up a flight of stairs has him questioning  _ why _ exactly he decided that, but there they were. 

 

At least the weird vomiting had stopped. Blue stained Connor’s previously pristine shirt and threatened to drip into the cracked cavity that was still smoking slightly. Gavin’s nose wrinkled— it smelled like charred plastic and something tangy metallic. If the scent of it made  _ Gavin _ wince, then what the hell was it like for Connor?

 

The subject in question stays quiet for most of the journey, though he occasionally lets out soft little grunts when bumped against something. All in all, everything goes well right up until the moment that Gavin gets Connor to the beat truck. By then the android can’t even lift his foot up enough to get it into the footwell, and Gavin has to take a moment to set him on the ground against the tire just to give himself a break. He can feel sweat dripping down his neck and making the back of his t-shirt cling to him uncomfortably.    
  
“You’re... fuckin’ heavy, Connor.” He takes a moment to fill his lungs with air. He was in good shape, worked out frequently— but smoking, coffee, and lack of sleep tended to eat away at the endurance he built up daily with weights. Connor blinked at him dully, not justifying that with an answer. His face was drawn in pain, one hand pressing firmly against his sternum. His skin flickered in and out across his shoulders and chest, with the stark white chassis peeking through occasionally. The thirium splattered across his collarbones and leaking from his ears stood out vibrantly against pale skin.   
  
Gavin regained his breath. “You look fucking awful.” 

 

Connor let out a little huff, his voice almost too soft to really hear. “You wo-wo-would too.” 

 

Gavin had to give him that. He stepped back up to the truck and opened the passenger side door. “I’ll give you that, asshole. One perk of being an android huh?” He has to hook his arms under Connor’s to manhandle him into the seat, shoving his feet inside before slamming the door. Against his better judgement, he found his mind spinning. A perk of being an android meant they were a little tougher than humans. A fluke was that they had millions of humans looking to hurt them in any way possible. 

 

After seeing Connor thrash in agony, he found himself uncomfortable with the notion that not long ago he had been among them. The hate on the back of his tongue had been tangible every time he looked at Connor’s stupid doe face, fingers itching for his trigger when Connor shifted too close to the uncanny valley. It had been fierce and hot and made him dizzy almost every time Connor so much as opened his fucking mouth.    
  
And then Connor had lied to his face, gotten a soul, broke into the most militarized building in Detroit, and became buddies with Robo Jesus— and Gavin didn’t know  _ what  _ the fuck to do with all  _ that. _

 

When Connor had finally showed face again in the precinct, he moved more fluidly, built a personality forged of irony and sarcasm, and did some  _ damn  _ good police work— the hate had still been there, but it had been watered down each time Connor defended himself with a fire in his eyes, smothered with a blanket every time Connor coaxed a traumatized witness to trust again, diluted every time Connor leapt on the opportunity to go the extra mile, just because his heart wanted to. It had only taken months for that burning hate to calm into a dull simmer he pushed to a back burner to get his job done. It had taken several false starts, but Gavin had eventually swallowed his pride and managed to work a case with Connor properly. 

 

That wasn’t to say they were friends. They were barely coworkers. Gavin still ran his mouth whenever Connor entered the room and Connor often couldn’t be bothered to consider Gavin’s existence further than to trade notes about crimes scenes. 

 

Thankfully for Connor, Gavin didn’t need to be friends with someone to not want them to get their insides burnt to a crisp. 

 

A little too late for that anyway, Gavin supposed. 

 

He jams the keys into the ignition after climbing in behind the wheel. The truck takes twelve whole seconds to sputter to life, the entire cab shaking with the force of each aborted turnover. When the engine finally began purring Gavin felt himself feeling far more relieved than he had any right to be. They weren’t stranded now. “How much time?” 

 

“On-one hour an’ t-ten minutes.” Connor’s hand raises off his lap weakly and manages to clench loosely around the seatbelt but doesn’t seem to have the strength to pull the belt down and clasp it. 

 

Gavin feels irritation bubbling in his throat but reaches across the cab and snatches the belt from Connor’s slack grasp anyway, pulling it across to the buckle. “What, you think I’m going to fucking crash, Barbie?” 

 

Connor melts back into the ragged cushion of the passenger seat, eyes closing. “Safety first.” His voice is still full of static, but Gavin thinks he catches a faint smirk in his voice. He has to admit he was impressed that Connor’s humor was still intact despite staring death in the eyes. 

 

He steered the truck away from the house and started down the only road available. They had a fourth of a tank which... wasn’t great. They were an hour out— maybe seventy miles— Gavin’s brain spun as he tripped over the math for a second. He just had to hope that the truck’s mileage wasn’t as shitty as its paint job. The weather was clear, and while the sun wasn’t unbearable, the cab was warming quickly. Gavin fumbled to crack the windows while he adjusted to the gears of the truck, letting in a sudden abundance of crisp chilly air. 

 

An hour and ten minutes. The road was gravel and full of holes, the truck was old and not his, and Connor was dying. He hadn’t had the chance to drive a manual in years, and while it takes a moment to remember how to properly upshift, once his muscle memory comes back, they fly down the gravel at sixty miles an hour. It’s dangerous, bumpy as fuck, and makes his teeth rattle, but they make good time if the clock on the dash can be trusted. 

 

Despite his teasing about crashing, not even Gavin’s daring driving seems to startle Connor. He stays boneless against the seat, head lolled back against the headrest and eyes half open. The seatbelt turns out to be a good idea, because it becomes increasingly obvious that Connor was struggling to keep himself held upright. He doesn’t blink often, and his chest goes through periods of stillness followed by deep rasping breaths. One quick glance at Connor’s face reveals that blue blood was leaking from his nose and occasionally would slip past his lips silently, spilling down his chin and into the hollow of his collarbone. Out of the corner of his eye he catches something from inside Connor’s chest spark. 

 

Gavin’s curiosity wins over his pride. “Can you still feel it?” 

 

Connor doesn’t respond right away. His chest jumps twice in quick succession and he blinks before answering. “Yes.” 

 

Gavin wants to ask what it feels like but doesn't. Connor seems to read his mind anyway. “It’s like... little sh-shocks-cks down my my spine.” The cab is filled of the low drum of rocks bouncing off the undercarriage. “And— I think-nk I haAVve a heaDach-che.” Gavin’s snort is involuntary.    
  
“An android with a fucking headache. Is that even a thing?”    
  
“It is now-ow.” Connor mumbles back at him, voice deeper than before. He lets out a shaky little breath before his gaze settles on the road in front of them. 

 

_ Finally,  _ the highway stretches out before them. “Do you have a compass or something? Right or left?” As much as Gavin hated having to ask Connor for direction, he had gotten too turned around while they were being driven here to trace their exact position backwards to the interstate. The last thing he wanted was to drive  _ further  _ away from Detroit. 

 

“Right— ‘ll... tAKe us NO-or-north.” 

 

Gavin turns and lets loose the purring little v6 hiding beneath the hood, gritting his teeth as the rattling within the cab increased. He shifts up two gears quickly and pushes the truck to reach eighty. Thirty miles over the speed limit— it was reckless, but at this point they’d be  _ lucky  _ to get pulled over. At least then they could radio Hank and have a proper location for where they were going. They could warn whatever fucking android place they ended up going for and take the patrol car instead of this  _ piece of shit—  _

 

“Fort-ty, three mINutes.” 

 

“Ugh, fuck.” If he weren’t so focused on keeping control over the truck’s concerningly loose steering he would reach for the cigarettes he found back in the house. “What happens if you shut down? Do they reboot you or what?” If Connor was basically a glorified supercomputer with legs, then couldn’t he be repaired and restarted? When his own laptop crashed he just took the battery out and put it back in— 

 

“No. It’s the— en-end of the line. It’ll—” Connor has to stop speaking for a moment, eyes squeezing shut while his face scrunched up in pain before seeming to melt back further into the car seat exhaustedly. “...nn- initiate— a hard reset— It’s... the— it’s the— corroded—” He lets out a fierce shutter and two huffs before bucking forward and coughing up a large mouthful of thirium, back tensing as the seat belt kept him from smashing his face on the dashboard.  

 

Gavin cursed, foul words filling the cab as his attention was split between Connor and the road in front of them. “Shit, fuck, okay, stop talking.” Connor was still spilling blood on his shoes, pulling his arms up and fingers curling against the lip of the open panel of his chest cavity. His skin glitches more severely, threatening to flicker away completely before settling back into place, patches of white plasteel showing through in prominent intervals. It makes him look sick in ways Gavin didn’t even know was fucking possible. 

 

It’s been half an hour according to the truck’s dash, but they still haven’t reached the interstate. They were down to an eighth of a tank— it was going to be fucking close, both in time and in gas. Gavin figured that fell in pretty well with how the rest of their shitty shitty day was going. 

 

Connor then decides to throw more shit at the fan.

 

“I can’t— can’t—” Connor gasped out, and Gavin risked a glance over at him. Connor was sucking air in through his mouth, letting out weak little wheezes around the thickness coating his throat. His hand was scrabbling over his chest, fingers digging into a faint circular shape that was outlined in blood. 

 

“What the fuck Connor— you said it wasn’t fucking fatal. What the fuck is going on?” 

 

“Over— ovERheaTINg—” 

 

“Ugh, fuck.” Gavin reached across Connor’s lap, keeping one hand on the wheel and using the other to roll down Connor’s manual window before rolling his down as well. The wind whipped their hair around violently and made it impossible to hear themselves think, but Connor stops making such desperate noises and Gavin has never been more grateful for it. He’s seen enough suffering for the entire fucking year, android or not. At some point it stopped mattering that it was fucking Connor, and all that had mattered was that he was obviously fucking miserable and in pain, and Gavin couldn’t do anything to make it stop. 

 

He has more he wants to say— he wants to fucking yell about how fucking stupid Connor was to risk their capture in the first place. He wants to cuss him out and punch him in the face for ever making him feel bad for the fucker— and then punch him again for good measure. 

 

Except maybe he doesn’t, because even though Connor’s bleeding blue and Gavin can literally see wires and cables strung inside of his open chest, Connor’s face is fucking young and agonized— deep brown eyes clouded over and full of fear. 

 

And what was more human than the fear of death? 

 

He still wants to punch someone, but maybe it’s not Connor. 

 

At least not until he can punch Gavin back. 

 

Connor grabs his arm, head ducked and mouth parted. “PUll— ovER. OVer— Pull—” 

 

“What the fuck? Why?” His arm tries to free itself from Connor’s grip on instinct, but Connor chases him, grip iron strong. 

 

“Gavin, dO It—!” 

 

He brakes harshly, jerking the truck to the tiny shoulder as far as he can without burying them in the ditch. Dust slipped in through the open windows and the sudden silence was startling compared to the reassuring hum of the engine. 

 

“Rese— reset— bURNing, ou—” Connor’s head bounced back against the headrest as his other hand continued to pluck again and again at the circle outlined under his sternum, but his fingers were too weak to actually pry it out. It was glowing red now. 

 

“What the fuck, Connor? Asshole— Come on—” Connor’s eyes had gone blank and motionless, arm falling back down into his lap as his body lost all tension.    
  
This was so fucking bad.  _ So fucking bad. _ He knows fuck all about androids— the precinct had exactly one seminar last month about android basics ever since they were declared citizens, but it didn’t say anything about what to do if they had their brains fried and frankly Gavin hadn’t been paying that close of attention anyway. “Come on, fuckface.” He reaches over and shakes Connor’s shoulders fiercely, trying to rouse him. Connor’s head falls onto his shoulder and doesn't move, but Gavin can finally see his flashing LED, cycling in rounds of a dim red. 

 

A part of him considers just throwing the truck back into gear and focusing on just  _ getting there,  _ but Connor had said pull over for a reason— if he could just get him awake to fucking  _ tell him—  _ He’d said reset, but what the fuck did that mean? 

 

“Fuckin— fuck, Connor, you fucking piece of shit fucking android—” He throws open his door and reaches beneath the steering wheel column, popping the hood of the truck. He darts around the front of the truck and throws up the hood, pinning it open before going to Connor’s side and yanking the door open. If he could get someone stopped thinking that he was stranded, then he could use their phone. They’d passed only a few cars on the way, but who fuckin’ knew?    
  
He could still feel heat radiating off of Connor, but it was far more intense now than it had been before, and he was absolutely coated in tacky thirium. Gavin pushed aside his torn button down to see the thing Connor had been clawing at better— it was about the size of his palm, and now with the truck off Gavin could hear it whirling away violently inside of him. When Gavin touches it he snatches his hand back due to the heat that had built up around it, cussing. 

 

And then he hears a very blessed sound. 

 

An engine, smooth and fast, coming towards them from the South. When Gavin looks he can see it’s a small little Toyota, new and sleek, and when Gavin goes back around to the front of the car and waves his hands the car pulls off the side of the road right behind the truck. There’s a middle aged white man sitting behind the wheel, decked out in a suit. 

  
Gavin’s a little surprised the guy pulled over at all, but the surprise is short lasting as the guy opens his door and starts to climb out, but Gavin’s already speaking before the other has a chance. “I need your phone—” He pulls his badge out quickly— Connor’s stopped making those little gasping noises behind him, and Gavin’s starting to get concerned that they are running out of time. Maybe if he can get on line with a technician— 

 

“Uh— yeah, sure.” The business man says, eyeing Gavin’s badge before handing the phone over. Gavin tries not to snatch the it from the other man, but it happens nonetheless as he goes back to Connor quickly. He’ll apologize later. Maybe. 

 

He has exactly four phone numbers memorized, and one of them is the front clerk of the precinct. Within moments he has the line ringing. 

 

“ _ Detroit Police Department, how can I help you?”  _

 

“Louis, it’s Gavin. Put an android tech on right now.” 

 

“ _ Gavin? They said you— _ ” 

 

“ _ Right now,  _ Louis _ ,  _ I swear to god—” 

 

He’s silenced by the following click and tone of the redial. He glances back at the businessman watching him from the side of his car, but Gavin has no time for him. Connor’s gone eerily silent, only taking a few trembling breaths every moment or so. No amount of Gavin’s shaking will wake him. His eyes crack for almost a second, but there’s no recognition in them and Gavin doubts he’s anywhere near coherent. 

 

That’s assuming androids can become incoherent. Gavin doesn’t really know. 

 

_ “DPD Android Technicians’ Office.” _

 

“Look, it’s a fucking emergency. I have Connor—” He’s grateful that Connor’s made enough of a name for himself around the station that everyone basically knows who he is already. It should make things a little easier. “He’s super fucked up. I need to know what to do.”   
  


_ “What damage has he obtained?”  _

 

“Some fuckface electrocuted him using an outlet. He keeps throwing up blood and fucking overheating. Something in his chest is like— fucking burning up, I can smell this shit melting.”

 

_ “Is it his thirium pump—?” _

 

“You’re going to have to be more fucking specific—”

 

_ “It’s a cylinder, right beneath the sternum. If it’s overheating it should be lighting up.”   _

 

“Okay, then yeah— what the fuck do I do?” 

 

_ “You’ll have to reset it. It won’t fix it but it’ll keep it from killing him.”  _

 

“Walk me through it.” Gavin pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear and reached into the car again, opening Connor’s shirt. He heard the man behind him say something, but Gavin had no time or thought for him. He wondered briefly if he should pull Connor out completely and lay him on the ground, but the tech is talking again and it apparently doesn’t matter. 

 

_ “Get your fingernails under the lip of it and twist it right until it clicks, then push it in and pull it out.”  _ Gavin reached forward to do so but had to pull his hand back again when it burnt the pads of his fingers. He cusses and strips off his leather jacket before wrapping his hand in it and reaching for it again. The loud thump that comes once he frees it is wicket considering it’s coming from Connor’s body, and once he has the thiriump pump in his hand he almost drops it, it’s so hot. Thin wisps of smoke carry up from the new cavity beneath his sternum, and the smell of burning chemicals becomes stronger. Connor jerks harshly beneath his hand when it’s released, but it looks less like consciousness and more like an involuntary twitch. 

 

“Okay, got it. Now what?” 

 

_ “Open up that main plate on top of it. There’s two buttons beneath it. Press and hold the smaller one for five seconds.”  _

 

Gavin curses and prepares himself for the heat before prying up the section and doing as he’s told. It’s impossibly hot and he’s probably going to feel it tomorrow. He counts down the seconds in his head. Sure enough, on the fifth second the lights on the pump change from red to a flashing yellow.” 

 

“Done.”

 

_ “Okay, now put it back in him. It’s tight, just shove it, it’ll fit.”  _

 

“It’s still hot as fuck—” 

 

_ “That pump is basically the equivalent of our aorta. Androids can only go a minute and a half without it, and it’s already been a minute. Put it back in. It’ll cool down as it starts working again.”  _

 

“For fucks sake—” He cusses, maneuvering the jacket before dropping it completely and shoving the pump back in Connor’s chest. It connects with a sickening  _ clunk  _ and turns bright yellow, no longer blinking. Connor’s reaction is instantaneous, head jerking forward with a mighty gasp that sprays thirium across the dash and windshield. His LED is still red, but it’s brighter now and no longer cycling. He collapses back against the seat a moment later, chest heaving.   

 

_ “Is he awake?” _

 

“Uhh...” Gavin reaches forward again and gives Connor another shake. His eyes crack open, and when Gavin pats him on the face firmly, he blinks drunkenly. “Asswipe, hey, wake up. Connor.” 

 

_ “It’s okay. There’s not much more you can do from there anyway except get him to a repair center. How far away are you?”  _

 

Gavin finally looks away from the dying android in the passenger seat and looks to the man whose phone he’s taken. “How far are we from Detroit?” 

 

The man shifts on his heels, looking entirely uninterested which is... surprising, to say the least. “About fifteen minutes from the west side. Can I have my phone back? I gotta get going.” 

 

The frown that stretches across Gavin’s face is sour. What a fucking prick. “Hold on a fuckin’ second, asshole.” He tells him, turning back to the truck and speaking into the phone. “We’re fifteen minutes from the West side, we’re about to hop back on 94. Where’s the closest repair center to there?”

 

_ “Okay.” There’s a moment of keys clacking in the background. “Follow 94 into the Martian district and turn off Michigan Ave. There’s one on the corner of Michigan and Grand.”  _

 

“Michigan and Grand, got it. Okay.” Unsurprisingly, Gavin happens to know where that is. His days as a beat cop where not wasted afterall. He makes quick work of signing off and hands the phone back before going back up to Connor, digging his arm beneath his shoulders. 

 

The businessman looked on in confusion even as he backed away to leave. “What are you doing to it?” 

 

“I need your car. This piece of shit is almost out of gas and it can’t go nearly as fast as that little hatchback.” Thankfully he turns before getting Connor in his arms, and sees the revulsion on the idiot’s face, already prepared to disappear and leave them. 

 

“No way. I don’t want one of those things in my fucking car— it’ll get that blue shit everywhere. No way.”

 

Gavin can only blink for a moment. 

 

_ What the fuck?  _

 

“What the fuck did you just say?” 

 

The businessman’s face darkens. “I’m not taking that hunk of metal anywhere. Just fucking replace it. This car is new and that’s fucking creepy.” 

 

The hot rage that boils up inside his chest takes Gavin completely by surprise. It rushes to his head painfully and makes him clench his teeth together, fury overshadowing all other thought. Connor was  _ clearly  _ in fucking trouble, quite literally teetering over the thin line of death, and this fucking piece of shit wanted to leave them on the side of the fucking road? 

 

Gavin’s never had the best temper control, and sometimes it bit him in the ass, but this was one of those times that he could never care less. He let Connor fall back to the seat, and stalked forward. There was a way to do this tactfully, but Gavin was all out of restraint today— be it from being kidnapped, or being the reason Connor couldn’t defend himself, or watching the fucking kid  _ writhe in pain,  _ and  _ not  _ blame Gavin for it—  _ and he didn’t even fucking like Connor.  _

 

Before the other man can blink, Gavin’s pulled his service weapon, honing it in directly on the fuckers forehead, and his hands don’t shake despite the fury washing over him, or the lack of food or water or rest— if he wants it to, his shot will land. “Listen closely you piece of shit. We are taking your fucking car, or I shoot you in the face, and  _ then  _ we take your car. I’ll let you pick.” 

 

The asshole was clearly not expecting this. Gavin was an officer of the law after all, quite blatantly threatening murder. Which was was extremely illegal. But Gavin takes two steps forward, aim never wavering, and eyes darkening. As much as he wants to call Gavin’s bluff, the fear racing through his heart won’t let him. This guy was clearly pissed off, and maybe not quite sane if he was risking his career for a piece of fucking plastic. 

 

So he steps away, hands in the air. “Okay. Fine. Take it.” 

 

Gavin sneers at him, keeping his gun level with him before motioning with it to step further away from the car until the businessman is at the hood of the truck. “Keys.” He holds out his hand and catches the keys when they’re tossed to him before reholstering his weapon. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He snarls. If the fuckface had agreed without force, then Gavin was going to let him simply drive them into the city, but now Gavin was content to leave him on the side of the road for the patrols to pick up later instead. He keeps the phone and the keys to the truck, and the businessman seems to have enough sense not to ask for them. 

 

He takes thirty seconds to move the hatchback closer to the truck before making quick work of transferring Connor from the passenger seat to the backseat of the other car. 

 

And then they’re on the road again. 

 

Gavin has to take a moment to consider that this is very easily the  worst fucking road trip in the history of road trips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review!


	3. Shut the fuck up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their roadtrip comes to an end, and Gavin fixes his finger. Connor makes fun of him, and Gavin is freed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A BILLION MONTHS LATER AND ITS DONE GET THIS SHIT OUTTA MY WIPS I DECLARE IT FINISHED I NEVER WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN

Detroit’s tall skyline comes into view fairly quickly. 

 

Gavin pushes the sleek car faster, mildly impressed at its horsepower. He hits the interstate running, and sails down the slick roads at an easy 90 mph. It’s faster than even he dares on a normal day, but this situation is anything but normal, and the car’s automatic sensors have already locked onto the road. Sometimes he hates that everything has become automated, but even he has to admit that it can have its uses in moments like these. 

 

Leaning back just a bit, confident that the car would keep them on route, Gavin spares a glance at where Connor is slumped over in the passenger seat. 

 

What little skin that clings to him is nearly translucent, and that creepy white casing shows through completely everywhere under Connor’s jaw. Gavin’s just grateful he’s still got his eyelids and hair, because trauma induced bonding aside, he’s not sure anything could keep him from tossing Connor out of the car if he reverted to full skeleton. 

 

He doesn’t actually know if that’s possible, but it seems like a thing an android could do. 

 

Connor’s shirt has mostly fallen off his shoulders from all of the manhandling, and the thirium smeared across his body is thick and tacky— just like it is on Gavin’s hands. He can feel it sticking to his skin and getting caught under his fingernails. It’s fucking disgusting. Between the thirium and his own blood from escaping the ties and his broken pinkie, he would love nothing more than to wash his goddamn hands. 

 

He watches how Connor’s chest jumps for a moment longer before reaching over him and snatching the seatbelt and clicking it into place. Then he turns on the GPS, enters the coordinates to the android med bay, and takes out the phone. 

 

He calls dispatch first, because with the luck they’d had so far that day, he has no doubt that some patrol was going to try to pull them over, and they really can’t afford to waste anymore time now. They’d been on a crunch to begin with, but now after wasting ten minutes on the side of the road, Gavin still isn’t sure they’re going to make it before Connor’s timer runs out. 

 

Dispatch is as impossible as ever, but they send cars for an escort, and Gavin breathes a little easier. That took care of one thing. 

 

Now for the hard part: calling Hank. 

 

He calls the station again and had them transfer the call, because he doesn’t fucking know Hank’s number, and doesn’t wait even two rings before there’s an answer, which is not what Gavin was hoping for. 

 

He’d hoped Hank would be too busy looking for them and would miss the call, that he wouldn’t have to deal with all this until after the fact when Connor’s fate was already 100% out of his hands, but apparently he wasn’t so lucky. Old Alcoholic Bastard. 

 

_ “Anderson.”  _

 

Ugh, great. And the old man’s pissed. Because of course he is, his partner’s been kidnapped. 

 

“It’s Gavin—” He starts, already trying to think of the fastest way to get this call over with. Talking to the family of victims was easily the hardest part of his entire job, and he still hadn’t quite mastered the best ratio of how to do it properly, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything for fuckin’ Hank Anderson. 

 

But Hank cuts him off. 

 

_ “Oh you fuckin’ piece of— where the fuck are you? We’ve had people out looking for your dumb ass since this morning—”  _

 

“Oh my god I so am not listening to this from you—” 

 

_ “You better be fucking dying or Fowler is going to fry you fucking alive— And Connor better fucking be with you too— I swear to god—”  _

 

“Hank, for one goddamn second in your life, listen to me. Are you fucking done?” 

 

_ “You fuckin’ shit—”  _

 

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up! We got fucking ambushed last night by this fucker— ugh fuck, what was his name—” 

 

_ “Ambushed? Where the fuck have you two been?”  _

 

“At his house, he tied us up and took us back to his house at gunpoint. Listen, Connor’s real fucked up here—”

 

_ “What do you mean? How bad?”  _

 

“Winson— his name was Jonathan Winson—”

 

_ “What the fuck happened to Connor?” _

 

Gavin sighs and casts a glance at the still body in the passenger seat. Connor hasn’t so much as twiched since they switched cars. He almost wishes the fucker would wake up, just so Gavin knew he wasn’t completely dead. As it is he only has that tiny ass LED to go off of. “Winson had some jerry rigged cattle pod. Had it hooked up to his house’s electrical. He fried Connor’s insides with it.” 

 

_ “Jesus fuck—”  _

 

“We’re on the way back into Detroit— I had to steal some poor fucker’s car, you’re gonna love that story, but we’re going to the fuckin— Android hospital thing on Michigan and Grand.” 

 

_ “I want to talk to him.”  _

 

“He’s out fuckin’ cold. Listen, just meet us there. It’s gonna be close.”

 

_ “The fuck you mean ‘it’s gonna be close”?!” _

 

Next to him, Connor lets out a long whine, chin tilted up as his arms shifted. It’s the first sign of life the fucker’s shown. They’re about nine minutes out, and soon Gavin will have to pull of the interstate and drive manually again. 

 

“Just fucking be there.” Gavin snaps, patience wearing thin. He knows Hank’s probably freaked, but he’s got bigger problems now. He hangs up and dials Fowler, scooting the chair back up to the steering wheel while he looks for their exit. 

 

Connor’s head drops forward bonelessly, but Gavin can’t tell if it was purposeful movement or an accident. He waits a second while the call rings through to look for any more movement. 

 

The conversation with Fowler is much of the same, if a far bit nicer on both sides. He’s pissed alright, but at least he seems to recognize that now was not the time to start shouting. 

 

Lights flash behind him just as dispatch promised, and Gavin huffs out a breath of relief. “About time assholes,” he mumbles, even though their response time was fairly fast. Either way, he’s glad to see them. He glance again at Connor and frowns before reaching over and pushing his head back. “Almost there you fuckin’ shit.” 

 

He turns back to the car, eyeing the patrols in the mirror as he switches the car back into manual, taking the wheel again. He doesn’t dare slow down, but he gives them enough room to flank the car front and back, and thanks the gods that the lead doesn’t force them slower. 

 

“You better fucking live through this, Connor.” He’s speaking without his realization. “Putting in all this work to keep you alive... Look, even dragged in the beat cops to keep your ass running.” 

 

“It’s... weIRd...” 

 

Gavin does not jump in his seat, nor does he suck in air like he’s dying. He does neither of those things. He does, however, look over to where Connor’s weakly twitching in his seat. Connor’s got fresh blood trickling from his nose into his mouth, and that’s fucking disgusting. He moves his arm and plucks once at the seatbelt before a small smile tugs on his lips. 

 

“What is?” Gavin asks, not because he really wants to know but because at least if Connor’s talking then he’s not dead, and Gavin doesn’t have to think about why he doesn’t want Connor dead anymore. 

 

“...You’VE neEVer... CalL Me... CONnor.”

 

“The fuck I haven’t.” He can see the exit to Michigan Ave, and thankfully everyone has the brains to get out of their way. 

 

“You Don’t... OFTen..” Connor insists, his eyelids fluttering. It’s creepy.    
  
“But I have, asshole. I used your name just earlier.” He pulls off of the interstate and into Detroit’s streets, forced to slow down some.

 

“YeS. ANd... It’S WEird.” 

 

“What the fuck do you mean?” 

 

“I’m NoT UsEd to It...” Connor murmurs, and Gavin snorts. They’re closer now. 

 

“Well don’t. I’m not calling you Connor anymore than I used to after this.” 

 

“GoOD.” Connor tells him, eyes finally closing. 

 

“Good?” Gavin asks, weaving around some asshole in a jacked up truck. “You’ve got some weird fucking kinks, Connor.” 

 

Connor lets out a laugh that sprays blood on the dash again and folds him over, blood dripping down onto the floorboards. The laughing turns into coughing, and then vague vomiting— the same as the kind he was doing in the basement back at the house. 

 

“Fuck— stop laughing, I didn’t mean to make you laugh, goddamnit, Connor—” 

 

Once the coughing starts, it doesn’t end. Connor’s back convulses and bunches as he spits blood out, gasping wetly between boughs of vomiting. His LED is back to a bright red, flashing wildly as Connor struggles not to headbutt the dash. 

 

But they’re there— they’re there! Gavin skids to a stop, the tail end of the car sliding as he pulls up outside of the med bay. Dispatch had made sure they were ready for them, and sure enough the moment they arrive, blaring sirens and all, a gaggle of androids with a gurney come running out of the building. Gavin reaches over and undoes Connor’s seatbelt, but Connor’s still slumped over himself, and it’s caught on his elbow. 

 

One of the techs throws open the door and reaches in, and between the two of them they manage to get Connor free. 

 

And then it’s out of his hands. He doesn’t realize at first, but in that moment there’s no more he can do to keep Connor from dying. He stares at the techs who scoop Connor up and plop him on the stretcher like he weighs nothing at all, which Gavin knows isn’t true because he carried the fucker, and then they’re off— rushing back into the building behind glass doors while they shout completely incomprehensible tech bullshit. 

 

It takes him another moment to drag his ass out of the car, and he gets a glimpse of the herd disappearing down a hallway inside, but they’re gone before he manages to get moving again. 

 

He glances down at himself and then at the car. 

 

His mind blanks. 

 

... 

 

He’s still covered in blood, both his own and Connor’s, but mostly Connor’s, and sweat as well. 

 

God— he’s actually very sweaty. He’d easily soaked through his shirt. Why the fuck was he so sweaty? It wasn’t hot out— maybe sixty— he shouldn’t be so gross— but his hair is sticking to his temples and—

 

“Gavin!” He blinks, shaking his hands as though he could shake off the blood that drips on them, and looks to see who’d said his name. 

 

Fowler and Tina are both coming straight for him, both concerned but muted in anger. 

 

It’s been a long time since Gavin’s seen Fowler look so rumpled— he’s missing his suit jacket entirely and his tie is loose enough to completely take off. He’s even got his sleeves rolled up like he was considering beating the shit out of someone. 

 

Gavin vaguely hopes it’s not him.

 

“Where’s Connor?” Fowler demands, and Gavin points at where the glass doors to the clinic are closing. Fowler seems to size him up and down, dark eyes soaking him in in a way that makes Gavin feel exposed, like every bad thing he’d ever done is out on display. He knows he looks like shit, because he feels like shit, but would it kill a man to leave him be? 

 

He absently closes the door to the hatchback, and the sound of it slamming is way too loud on his ears. 

 

It dawns on him for a moment that he may be starting to enter shock, and he gets angry. 

 

He is a police officer. He’s survived far worse than having his pinkie broken and a gun waved in his face. He is not going to go into fucking shock over a fucking android, certainly not  _ Connor  _ of everyone— 

 

“Hey,” Tina says, voice too soft and concerned. He hates it instantly. He doesn’t fucking want their worry. He wants to get drunk and pass out in his bed. There’s still fizzling anger swimming in his head, and it pulses at his temples and makes him want to punch a wall. He’s not really sure he knows who he’s angry at anymore, or even why he’s angry, but he  _ is—  _

 

“Stop,” He says instead, voice vicious. She doesn’t even flinch. He wonders when he became so predictable. “Listen— where’s Hank? I told him to be here—” 

 

“He’s inside,” Tina says, crossing her arms. “He called in some people from Jericho to help with Connor. Apparently they were expecting trouble.” 

 

“Trouble? What the fuck does that mean? What kind of trouble?” He asks, because he just invested so much fucking energy getting Connor here alive that if he dies now  _ after the fact _ , Gavin will resurrect him from the grave just to kick his fucking ass. 

 

“Connor’s a prototype. It’s just a precaution,” Fowler explains calmly, still watching him closely. Gavin refuses to squirm under his eyes. He stuffs his hands into his pocket, and that is  _ such a mistake holy fuck his hand—  _

 

And that’s so fucking unfair, because he hadn’t even noticed the pain before— not when he was changing gears or holding his gun or even dragging Connor’s heavy plastic ass around— how fucking dare it hurt now that everything was done and he got to rest?

 

“Go to the hospital, let them check you out. Chen, you drive him.” 

 

“Oh no way—” He starts, anger flaring. He was gonna go home and get  _ drunk—  _

 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Reed.” Fowler cuts him off, obviously just as fed up. He looks exhausted, but that’s not Gavin’s problem, and all he needed was a fucking splint, not a fucking five hour wait in the ER— “I’m not fucking arguing with you right now Gavin. You’re bleeding all over the ground and I have more important things to take care of than making sure your dumbass doesn’t pass out and die alone in your apartment. You’re going to the hospital, and doing whatever they tell you. Clear?” 

 

He wants to argue further— wants to make a scene and stomp his foot and get his way— but he doesn’t have the energy. He’d fought so fucking hard for hours that now when he needs to fight just a little more, he doesn’t have the power. It was usually useless to fight with Fowler anyway, he never won and it usually only pissed him off more than he was in the first place. 

 

So he looks away, because even though he’s not going to argue he’s also certainly not fucking going to agree. 

 

“Good,” He hears Fowler grumble. “I’ll keep you updated on Connor’s status.”

 

“Don’t bother,” He says, because it feels right. Feels normal. 

 

“—Chen, debrief him in the hospital. I’ll let you know if he needs to come back to precinct or not later. Jackson will meet you for forensics.” 

 

He feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder, and only looks back so they can end all of this and fucking get on with it. Fowler’s still looking at him with that desperate sort of intensity. “Quit fucking pouting for one goddamn second and listen to me.” 

 

Gavin raises his upper lip in a half snarl. Fowler seems to have been expecting it. 

 

“I’m glad you’re safe, and I’m proud you got Connor back here. You probably saved his life, Gavin.” 

 

“Oh I fucking better have,” He snaps, but the venom is gone, replaced by exhaustion. “I put in too much fucking effort for him to die now. And you can feel free to tell him I said that. He’s a fucking asshole...” 

 

Fowler releases him and nods to Tina, and soon he’s sitting in a patrol car, driving away from the place he’d spent the past two hours of his life fighting tooth and nail to get to. He wishes the anger hadn’t disappeared, because the mind numbing exhaustion is so much fucking worse. It feels like gravity has increased infinitely and is dead set on dragging him down until he’s face first on the floor. 

 

Sure enough, once they get to the ER he has to wait. Police or no, there’s still triage, and he’s not dying of a heart attack. Detroit’s a busy place, and the ER testifies to it. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because the second he sits down in the waiting room his entire body logs right the fuck off and apparently he falls asleep at some point, because then he’s being woken up, and in his experience that’s something you have to be asleep for. 

 

Standing is, in his opinion, way harder than it used to be. His entire body feels like a bruise, and that’s just not fucking fair, because he didn’t  _ do anything.  _ Sure, today consisted of a little more physical labor than normal, what with lugging robocop all around, but that wasn’t enough of an excuse for his joints to lock up so badly. 

 

The infant they send to examine him must be straight out of fucking college, because he takes one look at the ripped and torn skin on Gavin’s wrists and gulps. Gavin realizes he’s standing with a uniformed officer and nearly bursts out laughing— he must look like an escapee. Tina must see him prepare to scare the shit out of the kid because she very firmly asks ‘when he’ll be ready for his debriefing,  _ detective.’  _ and there goes his chance to play a psychopathic lunatic who ate his own handcuffs. 

 

They sew his skin back together and splint his finger and pump him full of electrolytes, then make him sit in a room for four hours to  _ monitor his condition _ , which is bullshit because a nurse shows up exactly once. 

 

Either way, he’s too tired to answer all of the debriefing questions with his usual bravado, which Tina seems to find concerning even though he’s fucking  _ fine.  _ By the time they load back up in the car he’s too tired to realize the apartment they’ve arrived at isn’t even his, and then he’s too tired to even be pissed about it. 

 

He falls asleep on Tina’s couch before he even manages to get his shoes off. 

 

———

 

“Connor made it. He went home this morning,” Tina tells him in lieu of a good morning, and the only thing he can do to make her shut up is chuck a pillow at her. 

 

But she dodges it, and now he’s out of ammo. “They say that he’d had less than five minutes left on his timer thing, and that if you hadn’t been so fast he would have died.” 

 

“Great,” He tells her, face pressed into the cushion and possibly slobbering on the fabric. “Something I can hold over his head for the rest of his life.” 

 

This is funny to her apparently, even though Gavin is being completely serious, and he can feel the vibrations of her laughing through the couch. He kicks out wildly, hoping to maim her, but all he manages is to kick her thigh. It doesn’t motivate her to move off the couch though. 

 

“Fowler said he’s not 100%, so he can’t come back to work yet, so you might have to wait before you get to use that on him.” 

 

Gavin peeks one eye at her, squinting against the sunlight that fights to stream in through the blinds. He has possibly the worst headache since he was a pledge in college. “He can’t even fuckin’ work?” 

 

Tina nods, jerking her head at the bottle of water and tylenol on the coffee table. Gavin glares at her and then glares at the bottle for good measure. “Yeah. They fixed him up but there’s still some stuff broken apparently. It doesn’t matter anyway, Fowler’s going to make both of you take leave until you’re cleared by the shrink.” 

 

_ Fuckin’—  goddamn it— god fucking damnnit—  _

 

“You got kidnapped at gunpoint and killed a man, Gavs, I don’t know what the fuck you were expecting.” 

 

_ “I forgot,”  _ He snaps at her, voice dark. He’d fucking forgot. God fucking damn it— 

 

She shrugs and reaches for the bottle of water and breaks the seal before passing it to him. He considers not taking it out of pure spite for a moment, but the pounding at the back of his head convinces him to take it anyway. He downs double the normal dose and finally peels himself off of the cushions. Oh fuck he’s so gross— 

 

He’s wearing the scrubs they’d dug out for him after his clothes were logged into evidence, but he’s still smells of sweat and blood. He’s vaguely surprised Tina let him crash on her couch and didn’t make him sleep in the bathtub. He sits up and drops his head back on the couch, too tired to bother with holding it up. “It’s fucking bullshit— stupid fucking regulations making everything so much fucking harder than it ever has to be—” 

 

She’s so used to his grumbling by now that she doesn’t even try to play devil’s advocate or risk getting wrapped up in his cursing as well. Instead she moves the three feet it takes to enter her tiny kitchen and rummages around in the fridge while she listens. 

 

“ _ AND _ —” he continues, finally standing and bringing the water with him. “Fucking Connor! Fuck Connor! Do you know what he fucking did?”

 

“He saved your life?”

 

“He was a fucking idiot!” He corrects her, taking a large gulp of water as he does so. “Fuckin— he could have  _ easily _ have taken on that piece of shit, but he  _ didn’t.” _

 

“Why didn’t he?” She asks, not because it actually matters, but because he expects her to. 

 

“He fuckin— I don’t fucking know. He didn’t like the odds— what a fucking idiot. Look where it fucking landed him? And I had to drag his dumbass all over town.” He’s already losing steam, because his head still hurts and he’d like to shower, and maybe also eat— yes, he’s like to eat— 

 

Tina plops a takeout container with fried rice and pork in front of him, and it’s still cold but it smells absolutely like the most amazing thing in the world. “God you’re a saint.” He snatches up a fork and starts eating— he hadn’t gotten to eat the entire day yesterday, and the day before he hadn’t had much either. He hadn’t even noticed how starving he was until he started eating. As far as he’s concerned, pork and rice is the best fucking meal he’s ever eaten in his entire life. 

 

“I ordered it last night after you fell asleep— I thought you might wake up and want to eat.” Tina tells him as she picks at her own takeout with chopsticks. She’s dressed in sweatpants still, and he glances at the stove clock. 

 

“You’re not going in?” 

 

“Nah, I took today off,” She says nonchalantly, like it hadn’t had anything to do with him. He snorts and reaches for his water. 

 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

 

“After running around Detroit looking for your dumbass all day, I think I deserve a fucking break,” She tells him, grinning around her steak. She reaches for some soy sauce. “So Connor didn’t fight back because he didn’t like the odds?” 

 

Gavin huffs, already tired of talking about this. He had to spend an entire day with Connor— didn’t he deserve a break from thinking about him?

 

“Because he thought he’d get me killed,” He grumbles instead, knowing that he owed a her a little more information than most. “We don’t even fucking like each other, and he fucking just— just put his life on the line. He had to know what was going to happen, and yet he didn't defend himself. He just—” 

 

He can see her watching him from the corner of his eye. “We don’t even fucking like each other.” He falls silent and focuses instead on his food, foul mood beginning to creep up on him again. 

 

“No, but you respect each other.” 

 

He snorts. “The hell we do.” 

 

“You do,” She insists. “I’ve seen it. You don’t have to like someone to respect them. You of all people know that.” 

 

He decides that no, he doesn’t owe her anything, and cuts off the topic. He doesn’t want to talk about Connor— doesn't even want to think about the bastard. Doesn’t want to think about how seeing the fucker writhe in pain might affect their working relationship, or how he’s going to somehow have to figure out how to act around him, or how now they share an experience that no other person in the state can relate to. He doesn’t want to think about how Connor had looked so  _ human,  _ and how the sounds of android pain and human pain were identical, or how when it really came down to it— he and Connor had actually gotten along pretty well. “Sure, whatever. It doesn’t matter.” 

 

She knows his tone, knows he’s done, and lets the topic drop. 

 

———

 

It takes two weeks to get back into the station, and even then he’s bound to desk duty for two days while his paperwork clears. It’s so boring that after lunch he finds himself sinking deeper into his chair while his body considered maybe just... dozing off... for a few minutes. 

 

He forces himself to sit up and reach for his mouse even as his body fights to turn to lead. He hates this— he hadn’t become a police officer to sit at a desk. Sure, it was apart of the work, but a majority of his time while working a case involved tracking people down, visiting scenes, knocking on doors and the like. Even when he was making phone calls and researching family lines and wealth appraisals he was still actively working to get closer to an answer: whereas now all he is doing is clicking boxes on forms that he’s not really reading. 

 

It’s literally killing him. 

 

So he goes to get another cup of coffee. 

 

His finger is still splinted, and while it’s ugly and purple, it doesn’t actually keep him from doing much other than get distracted at how goddamn weird it feels. He’d almost forgotten about it entirely until... 

 

“How is your finger, detective?” 

 

He groans— it’s a sound that comes straight from his soul and maybe echoes a little. He only has to turn a little to see where Connor had snuck up on him, head tilted impeccably while he awaits Gavin’s response. 

 

“It’s great. Never better. Like it’s not even there,” He tells Connor, taking a sip of his coffee so he doesn’t have to look at Connor’s dumb face. 

 

“I was surprised you actually managed to break it on your own violation. Not everyone has that kind of drive.” 

 

Oh, that’s such a bad way of wording it. Did Connor know how weird that sounded? Did he do that on purpose? Was Connor fucking with him again? 

 

“You? Surprised? You were surprised?” Gavin asks, because Connor rarely let himself get caught off guard, at least while Gavin was around. 

 

“No,” Connor relents, lips tilting up, and Gavin has to finally look at the bastard because he needs more coffee and Connor’s standing in front of the machine. “I was watching you. I knew you would break it.” 

 

Gavin snorts. That sounded more accurate. 

 

Connor’s dressed far more casual than he normally does— he’s wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt under a DPD windbreaker.  He’s not got his badge or holster though, and Gavin knows that the idiot doesn’t go anywhere without them while he was on duty. So he hadn’t been cleared for active duty still. For some reason Gavin had half been expecting to see him still smothered in blood and wheezing for air. 

 

But he’s not. He’s clean and standing tall, hair swept back as always, hands tucked carefully behind his back. When Gavin looks for the signs of all the agony he’d suffered weeks ago he finds none. Even his stupid LED is spinning a steady blue. 

 

It’s remarkable, just what androids can survive. 

 

“Right. Sure you did.” He concedes, bodily shouldering Connor aside so he can get to the coffee machine instead of just asking him. Connor accepts the brute force with the same grace as always, only stepping aside. “So why the fuck aren’t you working?” he asks, because if Connor is going to stand there and stare at him then by god they better be talking or Gavin will lose his goddamn mind. 

 

“There’s been a hang up with the medical leave reimbursements. I’m the first android to have been injured on the force that required time away from work to recover from. They are still working on the paperwork.” 

 

Gavin sneers without meaning to, but it’s not really directed at Connor anyway. “It’s always fucking paperwork...” He grumbles, fully prepared to ditch Connor entirely and make a hasty retreat to his desk. He hadn’t figured out just how to act around him yet, and this entire conversation was proving to be very painful. 

 

“Gavin.”

 

“Oh god,” he says, cringing. “You’re right. That’s weird as fuck.” 

 

Connor’s eyebrows furrow, confusion marring his face. Gavin realizes he’s actually stumped him.

 

“You. Using my first name.”

 

Connor blinks.

 

“When we were driving back into Detroit you said that it was weird when I use your first name. And it’s just as weird when you use mine.” 

 

“Oh!” Connor drops his arms as his mouth opens in surprise. “Well. I needed your attention,” He explains, and before Gavin gets to berate him, Connor’s talking again, and Gavin really wishes he would stop doing that because he’s beginning to realize that the best way for him to work with Connor is if they either have a goal or just aren’t around each other at all. “I owe you my thanks—” 

 

Nope— nuh uh— “No, shut up right now—” 

 

Unfortunately, Connor is not as easily overrun as he used to be, and the bot plows on through Gavin’s protests. “You saved my life, and if you hadn’t been willing to actually—” 

 

“I will punch you right in the fucking mouth, I swear, stop fucking talking—”

 

“I know it had to be hard, and that you were injured—” 

 

_ “Listen!”  _ Gavin finally hollars, giving Connor a shove, but Connor barely takes a step back. “We’re fucking even, you hear me? You don’t owe me shit, and I don’t owe you shit. You gave up your life to protect me, so I kept you from dying. That’s  _ fair.  _ We don’t owe each other anything.” He finishes fiercely, snarling just a tad. 

 

Connor’s watching him carefully, his stupid LED spinning yellow as he seems to contemplate Gavin’s words. 

 

Finally— “Alright. We’re even,” he agrees, saying the words like he is tasting them. He is looking a little bit over Gavin’s shoulder instead of right at him, but a moment later he snaps back to and seems to reanimate. “We’re even.” 

 

“And we don’t ever talk about it, either. Got it? No emotional mopping okay? I’ll lose my goddamn mind—”

 

“But what if I want to tell everyone just how heroic the great Detective Reed was?” Connor says, and at first Gavin’s brain doesn’t process the words even a little bit, because what— and then he realizes that Connor is teasing him— and— 

 

“Maybe I want to announce to the world just how selfless and brave you were, how you were willing to do anything to save me...” 

 

Gavin nearly bashes his face right into the counter just to end the misery. He wonders if he still looks human or if the blush covering his face has finished transforming him into a tomato. Connor has never had a sense of humor, but now, when it was most  _ inconvenient _ to Gavin, he had to get one. Of fucking course. That’s just his fucking luck. 

 

“I hate you. So much,” He finally cuts Connor off before disaster strikes. 

 

“I know.” Connor says, and there’s a certain tilt of his lips that Gavin knows is his more common version of a smile. That was not the reaction he was hoping for, but so long as Connor stopped fucking talking, he’d take it. 

 

Now he needs to escape— to get out from under Connor’s sharp eyes. 

 

“So we’ve decided never to call each other by our first names ever again, yes?” Connor says, and Gavin hadn’t been expecting him to talk anymore, but fuck if that doesn’t sound like an out to him.

 

“Yes. I will never ever use your first name ever again if you agree to never use mine.” Gavin says, sticking out his hand as though to shake. He doesn't actually want to shake Connor’s hand, but it feels like the right thing to do. 

 

“Deal.” Connor takes his hand and shakes it firmly, and Gavin finally considers himself free. 

 

Free from Connor’s curious gaze, and his terrible shaking, and the blood that had sprayed from his mouth. He’s free from that house and Shitbirds’ gross electrical outlets and zipties that dig into his wrists. 

 

He watches as Connor leaves the breakroom and disappears around the corner, and Gavin realizes that he never actually found out why Connor was at work at all when he wasn’t on duty. 

 

He’s free from the kitchen chair in that dark basement, and from hearing Connor scream. 

 

But he’s not free from Connor, and Gavin suspects he never ever will be. 

 

...

 

And it’s not quite as bad of a thought as it used to be. 


End file.
